


Ultraviolence

by orphan_account



Series: the road is a long way home [2]
Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Domestic Fluff, Implied Sexual Content, Lazy Mornings, M/M, Relationship Study, photographer Iwaizumi
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-16
Updated: 2018-12-16
Packaged: 2019-09-20 07:39:27
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,393
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17018517
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: Oikawa has always had that glow around him, his body had sheen sweat on it, and still, he managed to look like an angel. (He was a devil, is what he meant.) the sun made his skin dewy and translucent. His eyes were closed, but Iwaizumi underneath those eyelids were a fire. A fire that swelled and tumbled beneath the darkest waves. They showed love, compassion, honesty. Brown eyes to Oikawa we’re the dullest color in the world, but to him, they were the best. In the light, they were a hazy caramel brown, with darker pupils around them. They swallowed everything in sight, always guarded and observant. But when those walls could be broken down, the layers fell and he was left in the open.------Through the lenses that only Iwaizumi could see, Oikawa was a battered shadow, prideful, keen and enigmatic. The coal, burning, sparks flying as it shapes and wields into a diamond. Dazzling, transfixing.





	Ultraviolence

**Author's Note:**

> welcome back to the short self-indulgent fluffy iwaoi! i haven't something that's not angst in like forever...

When Iwaizumi wakes up, he immediately is careful not to wake Oikawa up. Not because Oikawa got home only five hours ago from a long shift at the hospital, but because he never wanted this moment to end. Mornings were rare, like this. Where Iwaizumi would be able to open his eyes and feel the warmth that he’s been missing for months. 

Iwaizumi often came home late at times, where Oikawa would stumble through the doors at 3 am, tired and sometimes tipsy. His eyes were red, and eye bags decorated the bottom on his eyes. His white lab coat, wrinkled, tie loosened. His once-majestic hair, out of place and falling over his forehead.

His work wasn’t always hectic during the winter, only during Christmas, where his company calls him at four in the morning to remind him of a photo shoot only hours later. Agencies called him all day to schedule portfolios of clients, and he was often racing out of the house with his camera somewhat wrapped around his neck.

But now, there is no ringing coming from his silenced phone. There is no Robins that stand outside their bedroom window, a call to the morning. It was both of their days off, Oikawa, fortunately, had no shifts and Iwaizumi luckily hasn’t received not one message, yet.

It was a beautiful morning, he thought. He could capture the exact time, and rewind it a thousand times in his head. The sun peeking out from the Tokyo tower ahead of the window. The soft dust rising from the floor, it was cold as he slipped his bare feet on the wooden floor, damn the choice of brown wooden icky cold floor. He recoils his legs back into bed, deciding against getting up.

Instead, he admires the view in front of him. The covers hiding the muscle that Oikawa shamelessly never bothered to be unexposed. Pale silky skin that he knew of so well. His body was like a treasure chest to him, and he cracked it open. Knew every tickle spot, every nook, and cranny that could make Oikawa withering to his knees in front of him.

The crook of his neck, marking where the bone meets his shoulder. The freckles on his left arm. The old scar from roller skating in the park on his right knee, right above the scar where they did surgery on. Old scars, new bruises, it didn’t matter. He knew all of them. He loved his soft skin, the feathery feel against his cheek when they watched a movie together, Oikawa leaning against him. Later Oikawa admitted that he used face cream every day, it was the moment that mattered.

Oikawa has always had that glow around him, his body had sheen sweat on it, and still, he managed to look like an angel. (He was a devil, is what he meant.) the sun made his skin dewy and translucent. His eyes were closed, but Iwaizumi underneath those eyelids were a fire. A fire that swelled and tumbled beneath the darkest waves. They showed love, compassion, honesty. Brown eyes to Oikawa we’re the dullest color in the world, but to him, they were the best. In the light, they were a hazy caramel brown, with darker pupils around them. They swallowed everything in sight, always guarded and observant. But when those walls could be broken down, the layers fell and he was left in the open.

Through the lenses that only Iwaizumi could see, Oikawa was a battered shadow, prideful, keen and enigmatic. The coal, burning, sparks flying as it shapes and wields into a diamond. Dazzling, transfixing.

He stares along the black wallpaper above their bed, resting his head along the soft gray pillow. The stars painted, burning embers collapsing on him. It was a gift for Oikawa a year ago, he remembered him constantly whining about wanting the stars above him. The ivory cotton walls beside him, the brown billboard staring adjacent to Iwaizumi. The Polaroid photos all labeled in their respective blank spot below the picture. In a timeline, from when they’re young, from first-born, holding each other's small hand, to playing volleyball, the moment captured when the ball hit Oikawa’s head. The first year in middle school, new clean blue volleyball jerseys: a toothy grin on both of them, having lost their teeth at the same time. Their third year’s in middle school now, tears stained their shirts, eyes wrinkled from red eyes. It was obvious, that Oikawa had cried.

Slowly, he gets up, rising from his bed. Walking to grab the small photos, cupped on his palm. It was taken on their first day of high school. Using Iwaizumi’s first Canon, his mother had bought for him. They’re both shiny and smiling, Oikawa flashing his signature peace-sign, and tongue out. Oh what a great day that it had been, he thought to himself. His eyes travel to the small period of time where all he would take pictures of was Oikawa. Sitting legs elegantly crossed over the other, holding the steaming cup of hot chocolate, looking out the window at the coffee shop where they’d always go and get milk bread from. A quick snap after practice, after he had taken a shower, water droplets falling like petals from his legs. Hair soaking, hanging over his eyes. A walk in the park, smiling at Takeru. A true smile, from ear to ear, the only one he makes when he’s around Iwaizumi. A little of teeth showing, caramel melting into his heart. A band snapping around his chest, releasing pressure.

The most recent one taken was from only a couple days ago. A silken velvet colored robe wrapped carelessly around his waist, a slit high up his thigh. His face taunt in a smolder, without even realizing it, he looks sultry and seductive. His shoulders open at the top, revealing the small freckles splattered along the collarbone and neck. Rich bronze hair, curled in ringlets everywhere on his long swan-like neck. A broken photograph, black and white, a glass figure. His fingers clutched the edge of the picture, hunching over the image.

A sudden shift in movement behind him, bringing him to turn around. Cinnamon sugary eyes glistening from the sun stare back at Iwaizumi, and his hands itch to reach over to the desk table and take a picture. 

Oikawa blinks, once twice, before yawning. Stretching out his limbs. The blankets fall, exposing the tawny pale skin, that he memorized. Eyelashes fluttering like hummingbirds beneath his eyelids.

“Come back to bed Hajime.” his voice soft and low, purring from his sleep.

Iwaizumi puts the picture down, sliding across the floor until he reaches the latter. Oikawa tugs on his wrist, stumbling over him hovering over him. Iwaizumi’s startled as he dips into the bed, headboard squeaking. His lips meet Oikawa’s as he soundly closes his eyes, inclining into the kiss. His mouth warm, delicate and fragile

Though he was quite the opposite.

He opens his mouth, and allows himself to groan. Fingertips tracing his chest, scouring his now heated skin. He cradles his thin strands combing him with his own fingers. His lips travel down his neck, and Oikawa sighs above him. Skin against skin, breathe against breathe, they come together as one. Heavy hearts become one heart, one pulse. He loves the way he throws his head back against the post of the bed, moaning sweetly like dew honey. Every noise is a harmony. The morning is heard and the sun slowly rises outside. The sun glows, making Oikawa seem ethereal, and mid-pause he reaches for his camera, and takes a picture. Sweaty and radiating with such light, Iwaizumi can’t look away.

“Hajime!” Oikawa squawks, covering his face from the camera, and he laughs.

“You’re beautiful.” he hums, and Oikawa turns beet red, still not used to him saying it seemed.

“Don’t say things like that in the heat of the moment!” he mutters, giggling lightly.

“But it’s true,” he repeats it again, and cups his chin and hold into a searing kiss until their both gasping for the air. They become a tangle of limbs, kisses, and a photograph. Black and white, contrasting against the couple.

_ Everything was perfect _ , Iwaizumi thought as Oikawa laughed, smiling against the rough cheek of Iwaizumi’s jaw.

 

He wouldn’t have it any other way. 

  
  
  



End file.
